


Permanence

by RazzleBrazzle



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, Past Relationship(s), Tattoos, Trigger Warning: depression, past self-harm, trigger warning: self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-13 23:37:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RazzleBrazzle/pseuds/RazzleBrazzle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sting of the tattoo needle reminds Harry of the boy he used to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Permanence

**Author's Note:**

> This was written almost a year ago after Harry got this [tattoo](http://twitpic.com/aca3t6). 
> 
> Trigger warnings for mentions of self-harm and depression. PLEASE use caution when reading. Also, to my knowledge, Harry has never self-harmed or been diagnosed as depressed. This is purely fictional.
> 
>    
> Thank you to [TuesdayMidnight](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaymidnight/pseuds/tuesdaymidnight/) for looking this over so many months ago.

Harry sits in the shop, restless on the small stool and listens to the insistent buzzing of the needle working its way over his wrist. The artist notices he’s getting antsy and increases his grip on Harry’s arm. The pressure sends a slight jolt through his body; muscle memory pulling at feelings he tries to bury. Feelings of the boy with blue eyes, who used to leave fingerprint-shaped bruises to say “I was here” along the bones of Harry’s wrist. His heart feels too big for his chest so he sends up a silent “I wish you still were.” to whomever may listen, hoping like hell that someone finally hears him. 

There isn’t much light in the shop he notices and he’s grateful for the small distraction. There is just the warm lamp over his arm and the glow of the fluorescent lights in the window. He bites his lip to dull the pain of the sharp sting he feels. The needle moves quickly over the purple outline which sits stark against his pale skin, leaving a trail of black with each precise movement. It’s fascinating to watch as the artist lifts his needle to wipe away the excess ink. Harry sees his skin reddening under the manipulation and his free hand stutters in an aborted movement to reach out and feel the swollen flesh beneath his fingertips. 

He thinks back to a time where he used to feel a similar sting against this body, but with a less beautiful result. There was no black ink marring his skin in the wake of pain, just crimson life rising from beneath the surface, too bright against a harsh reality. There was nothing meaningful about those markings. But it settled him down when he felt too small in his world, when his skin vibrated with anger and sadness, when he felt like he’d explode if he couldn’t get his feelings trapped inside, out. 

Logic says this latest tattoo should go on the other side of his wrist to cover less perfect skin, slightly paler than the rest of his arm and that shimmers slightly at the right angle. But logic is long gone for now.

Harry’s mind wanders back to the day the blue-eyed boy first took notice of his hidden imperfections. 

  
_“You shouldn’t do that to yourself,” he said._

  
_“I...I don’t anymore. It was just a thing.” Harry felt his face get hot._

  
_The boy with the golden skin grabbed his arm. “You’re better than this.”_

  
_“I know.”_

  
_He felt feather light kisses pressed to the inside of his wrist. “You’re perfect to me.” Glassy eyes met his and he felt rough fingers run up and down his arms._

  
_“I am?” Harry looked down at the ground._

  
_He felt pressure against his chin as his head lifted against his will._

  
_“Yes. You’re more complex and beautiful than you give yourself credit for. I hope one day you’ll realize it.” He sighed and dropped his hand down to Harry’s shoulder and squeezed._

  
_Harry felt every emotion licking at his insides, each climbing over the next for dominance, but for once, hope was the strongest making its way to the top._

  
_“I want you to grow, and show the world how amazing you are, but never change who you are for anyone else but yourself. Promise me that.”_

  
_Before Harry could respond, he felt the force of lips meet his, sealing his new fate._

Harry can still feel the press of chapped lips to his in that moment. His free hand moves to trace along his mouth. The other set of lips may be gone, but the promise still remains.

With each new permanent marking he adds to himself, he reclaims a life that was too dark for too long. Yes, the sting against his nerves and the pulse against tender skin may be the same, but he is growing each day, building a new and hopeful life for himself just like the blue-eyed boy with the golden skin and the perfect words told him to. 

“Almost done,” he hears the artist say, effectively pulling him out of his trance.

He feels the cool touch of the cloth as the last remaining ink smudges are erased. 

“Wanna take a look?” 

Harry looks down at his wrist. Once, there were three words he heard on a daily basis, sometimes whispered in the soft morning light, often said on stage under the cover of darkness, but always repeated at the end of the day. 

However, those three words are just memories now. Three new words replace those lost, and Harry thinks it’s better this way.

  
_I can’t change_.

  



End file.
